Deep Control

by Annabel Joseph

  “I don’t have to wear them. I mean, I can mostly see. Things are a little fuzzy, but—”

  “You’re wearing them.” He came into my apartment and looked around to see where I’d left them. “I’ve developed a goddamned glasses fetish, thanks to you. Get them on your face. Did you put on the mascara?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m going to try to cry tonight,” I said, picking up my glasses from the coffee table.

  “I’m going to try to make you cry.” He took a thin pencil out of his pocket and held it up. “Wait. I want you to wear some eyeliner, too.”

  Crap. I was terrible at makeup. I never wore eyeliner, because I had to apply it without my glasses, and I always managed to poke myself in the eye. “I’m not good at putting it on,” I said. “I don’t think you’ll get the desired effect, unless you’re looking for a sexy, black-eyed clown.”

  “Good lord. Come here.” He dragged me to my kitchen and turned on the overhead light, and made me sit at the counter. He unpeeled the eyeliner’s factory wrapping and twisted up the black iridescent cosmetic. Okay, so manly, muscular Devin Kincaid was going to apply sparkly eyeliner to my eyes. He tipped up my chin and stood between my legs, and stared at me with his pale blue gaze.

  “Close your lids,” he ordered. “And hold still.”

  He took my face in his hands, using one of his fingers to hold my eyelid taut. I felt the pencil slip across in tiny movements, and tried not to blink, especially when he hissed at me again to be still.

  “Okay. Now open your eyes wide, and look up,” he said.

  I obeyed, and he did my lower lid. He didn’t poke me in the eye, not once, and then he lined my other eye with grim-lipped efficiency. When he handed back my glasses, I turned to look in a nearby mirror and saw that he’d done an expert job.

  “Where’d you learn that?” I asked, in awe.

  “I have many talents.” He squinted at my eyes to make sure the makeup was even, then leaned in for a kiss. His kisses always began gently, and ended in a heat of passion, to the point where he ruined my lipstick, and I had to re-apply.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said, suddenly impatient. “That lipstick’s just going to end up on a bunch of cocks anyway.”

  Jesus, the idea of that turned me on. What was wrong with me? What sane woman wanted such things? I took his hand and let him lead me down to his car.

  *

  Over the past couple weeks, I’d created a mental image of The Gallery based on details Devin had shared with me. I’d imagined a luxe first-floor lobby where I would have to stop and sign papers, and then, upstairs, a huge glass clock face and two dungeon-like floors of unbridled lust.

  The reality was even better than my dreams, even more beautiful. We rode up on the elevator with another couple. The submissive was quiet, averting her eyes in her nearly identical black coat, so I stayed quiet too, but I couldn’t help a few sideways glances at the Dom. Like Devin, he was in a dark suit and tie. He was wearing a wedding band, so he was married, but not necessarily to his sub. A lot of kinky people played outside their marriages to have their needs met.

  Would I do that someday? Probably not, since I didn’t plan to get married. You didn’t have to worry about love and emotion when you didn’t give your heart to someone. Problem solved.

  We arrived at the private floors housing The Gallery, and the elevator opened to a reception area so much more stylish and gorgeous than I’d expected. The lobby ceiling soared, the irregular corners bordered by carved molding. The wall was gray, not the red I’d imagined, and had fine gilt patterns covering the wallpaper. There were iron sconces on the walls, providing just enough light to give the room an air of mystery. And of course, there was the fancy ivory door that led into the dungeon.

  While I stood and stared at the opulent surroundings, Devin invited the other couple to go ahead of us. A handsome young man at the podium offered paperwork while the Dom took off his sub’s coat. He called the young man Rene, and I wondered if Rene acted as greeter and bouncer both, because he was as muscular as he was polite and deferential. He gave the sub a quick once over—checking her uniform—then accepted her coat and the Dom’s jacket, hanging them in a closet beyond the fireplace.

  I tried not to stare at the submissive. I was so nervous, because I knew I’d lose my coat next, and the most private parts of my body would be bared to everyone’s gaze, just like hers. The sub signed the page of Gallery rules without any shyness or shame, so I tried not to feel those things either. This was a fantasy world, and everyone had to play along to make it feel real.

  The couple went inside without a backward glance, and Devin led me forward. “Good evening, Rene,” he said, addressing the boyish gatekeeper. “It’s Ella’s first time.”

  “Wonderful,” he said.

  “Time to take off your coat,” Devin told me. His eyes were avid and smiling, and I remembered that he hadn’t seen me in my uniform yet, aside from the photo of the collar I’d sent. Was that on purpose? Had he wanted to see me the first time here before The Gallery’s ivory door, kind of the way a groom didn’t see his bride until they were at the altar?

  No brides. No altars. This wasn’t like that. I undid the buttons and let Devin lift my coat away. I might have felt embarrassed, or at least cold, if he hadn’t made such a flattering sound of approval. He tweaked one of my nipples, and when I squirmed, he patted my ass.

  Rene inspected me with less appreciation. I was pretty sure the gorgeous young man was gay. Poor guy, having to inspect sexily attired female subs all night long. Actually, his orientation probably made it easier for him to deal with all the naked lady parts. He nodded at Devin and had me sign the page of rules I’d memorized from perving over them all week. I wasn’t nervous anymore, I was excited. I scrawled my signature and handed the paper back.

  “Welcome to The Gallery,” Rene said. “Oh, and would you like me to look after your glasses while you’re inside?”

  “No,” said Devin. “She’s going to wear them.” He winked at Rene. “I want her to see everything that’s coming to her.”

  The man’s impassive regard didn’t break, but I saw a blush rise in his cheeks, and maybe the hint of a dimple. He took our coats and gestured toward the ivory door. “Enjoy.”

  Devin opened the door and guided me up a set of stairs into a dungeon much larger than any I’d ever seen. Both stories were busy and full of activity. A watch face with Roman numerals took up an entire wall, its gold and silver gears on display. It wasn’t blue, like in my dream, but a luminescent white, and it wasn’t keeping time. The hands were motionless, stuck at seven forty-five.

  I touched my collar, feeling at home here, and appreciating the fact that Devin had allowed me time to look around. Now that I’d taken in the massive clock and the variety of fetish furniture, I started to see the people: Doms in crisp white button up shirts, ties, and pants, and subs who were all dressed like me, except that some had dark hair, or red hair, or blue hair, and some wore fetish jewelry.

  “What do you think?” Devin asked. He grinned, because he knew I loved it. “Are you ready for some pain?”

  “Yes, Sir.” My voice shook a little, from excitement and anxiety, not fear. “This place is beautiful, just…in every way.”

  “Not always. But most of the time.”

  He showed me around, or maybe he just wanted to let the other Doms get a look at me. The players who weren’t involved in deep scenes greeted him, and looked me over. I was happy to see there was no real “type” here. The subs came in all ages and sizes, and so did the Doms. Devin was definitely the most handsome, with his blond hair and piercing eyes, and a lot of the women seemed into him.

  Don’t be jealous. He’s not your boyfriend or anything. He’d saved my life once, and given me many orgasms, but I had no right, or desire, to claim him as my own. While I studied the faces and tried to remember the names, I checked out the various areas.

  There was a section with sofas and chaises, where couples w
ere having sex, and another area with various types of racks and bondage equipment. One area had medical tables and spanking benches, and trestles and beams with lots of attachment points. As if all of that wasn’t enough, there were chains and structures hugging the wall, with cordoned-off spaces for more dangerous scenes, like whipping. Someone in the corner was throwing a snake tail, which made a terrifying hiss-crack noise that echoed off the walls and into the second level. People watched from the balcony above as the sub shrieked and twisted, her arms held over her head in chains.

  I stiffened at the sight. She seemed to be in agony, and there were no safe words allowed here if it became too much. I looked at Devin, but he seemed more amused than concerned. “She lives for whips,” he murmured in my ear. “Hardcore, huh?”

  I nodded, wondering if Devin was into whips. He hadn’t talked about them, but who knew what he’d do to me now that I was here? I’d try anything once, since I trusted him, but to my relief, he led me away from the whip couple to the area predominated by spanking benches and tables.

  “Since it’s your first night here,” he said, “I thought I’d let some of these Dominants have a whack at your sexy ass. They’ll be excited to learn what a masochist you are.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said.

  Around us, an audience was already gathering. I darted a glance at them, trying not to feel defensive or embarrassed. They were cultured, well-dressed men, confident and powerful, many with half-hard cocks jutting from their opened pants. Their slaves or subs knelt at their feet, appreciating the break my ass was about to give them.

  Devin positioned me in front of a padded trestle that was about waist high, and cuffed my ankles to the structure at either end, so my legs were spread wide. I teetered on my high heels and obeyed his command to bend over the trestle—slowly—so my pussy would be on display. My nipples had tightened into peaks, and my pussy had gone humiliatingly wet at the exposure. Did everyone know it? Could everyone see?

  Devin walked to a row of cabinets on the opposite wall and opened one that presumably belonged to him. I closed my eyes so I couldn’t see all the things he had stored in there. I moaned when he returned with a thick, black butt plug. Ugh, another metal one, cold and unforgiving. He turned it in front of my face and showed me the jeweled base. “Isn’t it pretty?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir,” I said with a quiver in my voice.

  “Everyone who takes a turn on your ass can enjoy the view.”

  Oh God, I was already dying of horniness, and the scene hadn’t even started yet. I bit my lip as he lubed my ass, and held hard to the trestle to try to maintain some sense of control. The plug probed at my tight hole, and when I squirmed, he placed a hand at the small of my back to settle me. The ache of intrusion eventually relaxed as he persisted, working the plug in and out until he drove it home.

  I was in subspace already, plugged and bound, and surrounded by Dom/sub couples who were either scening, or milling behind me to be part of my scene. At Via Sofferenza, when my friend Giorgio had invited other men to molest me, I’d been blindfolded, but now I could see everything and everyone, and I didn’t have anywhere to hide.

  Devin appeared in front of me with his cock exposed, and lifted my head by the hair. I cringed at the pain as arousal bloomed higher, throbbing between my legs. “Open your mouth,” he said. I whimpered and obeyed, and just as he thrust between my lips, I felt the crack of a strap across my ass.

  Ow, ow, shit…

  I jerked at the hot pain and resisted the impulse to turn my head. My attention had to be on Devin. His cock was in my mouth and his hands held my hair, and I’d been given a task, even if…

  Owww. Another blow stung my ass cheeks. I squeezed on the plug, thick and hard inside me, and tried to focus on serving Devin, but the strapping continued. Five blows. Six. Seven. Eight. It was so hard not to reach behind to protect myself. I held tight to the wooden beam of the trestle and sucked my Dom’s cock until the strapping ended.

  I had a mere ten seconds of respite before Devin greeted another friend. This time, it was the unmistakable flick of a cane that bit my exposed ass. My cry was muffled by Devin’s cock. I prayed that the mystery sadist behind me would lose interest quickly, because canes hurt so badly. Perhaps if I was perfectly still, and didn’t twitch my butt back and forth, making it an irresistible target…

  But I didn’t have that kind of control. I bucked my hips and tried to evade the hot, agonizing strokes, but the cuffs around my ankles kept me from moving. I was sobbing so hard by the fifth stroke that I had to spit Devin’s cock out of my mouth to take a breath. “I can’t,” I said. “Please…”

  “You can. This doesn’t end until I say it ends, so concentrate and suck my dick.”

  Oh shit. Oh holy shit. Would I be spanked by an endless line of Doms until I made him come? It was really hard to give quality blowjobs when you were dying of pain. Another cane stroke, and I almost reached back.

  “Don’t you dare,” he scolded, shoving especially deep. “Put those hands on your tits so I can see them. Squeeze your nipples.”

  I did, and that was when the first tear rolled down my cheek. It was partly from the blowjob, from his steady, unrelenting thrusts into my throat, but it was from the powerlessness too, and the fear that I wouldn’t be able to endure what he wanted.

  “Squeeze your nipples harder,” he said. “So it hurts.”

  I was paddled next, with a thin, stinging type of implement. Maybe it was a wooden spoon. Now that my hands had something to do, it was easier not to reach back, but my nipples were paying the price. Whoever was paddling me stopped every few licks and prodded at the butt plug, pushing it deeper and taunting that I ought to have my ass fucked when my spankings were over.

  I strained to look up at Devin, both comforted by his presence, and scared of him. Something in his expression turned tender, just for a moment.

  “You’re crying real tears,” he said. “Your makeup’s a mess.”

  I could feel the tears pooling against the frames of my glasses, and yes, my eyeliner and mascara was probably smeared all to hell. The paddler stopped and another strap took over, then a horrible spanking tool that felt like leather crossed with a cane. I wailed against Devin’s cock as each new Dom spanked me, crying and crying, squeezing my nipples until they went numb. I doubted ten minutes had passed, but it felt like four hours. My ass felt seared. It was so hot and achy I could hardly tense my butt cheeks without causing more pain.

  Devin’s grip on my hair relaxed. I looked up at him in entreaty—please, am I pleasing you? He patted my cheek and moved away, and another cock was in my face. “Open your mouth,” Devin ordered, when I closed my lips in surprise.

  I opened, studying the other Dom. He had hard, dark eyes and a lithe body shape. He pulled my hair as Devin had, but he twisted it so it hurt even worse. Where Devin’s style was casually capricious, this Dom was abrupt, all business. He fisted his sheathed cock and pushed it into my mouth.

  Any submissive brought into The Gallery shall be considered communal property. This was what that meant. I choked and squeezed my eyes shut as the dark-eyed man drove in to the hilt, deep in my throat. When I gagged, he pulled away, and I peered up at him, in both apology and entreaty. Please, please…

  My ass hurt, but it was bearable, and my throat, already raw from Devin’s pounding, could take more abuse. I was so far in subspace that I wanted him to gag me over and over, which he did, five or six times in a row, until tears streamed down my face.

  “Look at the poor thing,” the man said. “She’s a mess.”

  “She needs an ass-fucking, Milo.”

  Milo. That was the name of the man tormenting me with such pleasure. “Hey, look at me,” he said, tilting up my head with a hand on my throat. “Do you need your Dom’s cock up your ass?”

  I stared at him. His hair was longer than most men’s, and dark as his eyes. “Yes, Sir,” I gasped through my sore throat.

  “What? Say it louder, so he can hear
you.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I winced as the plug was removed from my squeezing hole. The man in front of me, Milo, slapped my cheek to regain my attention.

  “Listen to me, girl. Look at me. Do you deserve a hard cock up the ass? You haven’t made either of us come yet.”

  I strained to hold eye contact with him through my blurred, tear-stained lenses. “Y-yes, Sir. I’m sorry.”

  Milo laughed as Devin prodded his cock against my hole. Was it Devin? I couldn’t even turn to be sure, because Milo had grasped my head again and shoved himself into my throat. I moaned against his shaft as a thick cock pierced me from behind, easing into me at first, then shoving deep. Yes, definitely Devin. I whined and cried, processing the pain that wasn’t really pain, and the pleasure that wasn’t really pleasure, but more of a frantic, feral craving to let go.

  Let go. Let go now. Let them have you.

  I groaned as Devin shoved against my ass. I was sure it was him. I knew how his cock felt in my ass, how he liked to fuck in a steady, pounding rhythm that asserted his ownership. His hips slapped against my sore ass, fanning the lingering flames of my spankings. I understood now why this place didn’t have safe words—because this was too intense, too real. Even if I had a safe word, I couldn’t have dredged it up from the recesses of my animal arousal.

  Instead I clung to my nipples, because I hadn’t been told yet that I was allowed to let go. I opened my mouth and throat for Milo’s pleasure, even though I didn’t know him, and he wasn’t my Dominant. I spread my legs as wide as my bonds would allow to let Devin enjoy my ass, and my tears gradually dried enough to see the admiring approval of spectators in my peripheral vision.

  I let go, and came into myself as I most loved to be—vulnerable, helpless, and in pain. Naughty little maso. I wasn’t sure if Devin said it, or if it was an echo of memory, but it was true and it was wonderful.